


Nothing More Than You

by annundriel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Future Fic, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack comes back from a run.  Bitty is very awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing More Than You

Bitty wakes up alone, the sheets beside him cool. He stretches, appreciating the pull in his arms and calves as he takes the whole bed over for himself. Toes curling against the sheets, he rolls over to reach for his phone where it sits on the nightstand, grinning into the pillow that smells like Jack.

There’s a text waiting for him.

_Out for a run. :-)_

No matter how many times he sees it, something about the smiley face fills Bitty with a warm, slow joy.

He checks the time, then the timestamp on the text, and slips out of bed to bathroom. When he’s done there, he pads to the kitchen, barefooted and bare legged and bare chested, to start the coffeepot. Leaning against the island, he thumbs through his phone as the smell of Jack’s French roast fills the air. There are tweets he should respond to and an email he should write, but there’s time for that later.

The coffee is done and Bitty’s doctoring his first cup when he hears Jack’s key in the lock.

“Hey,” he calls, setting his spoon in the sink and jumping when Jack’s chilled fingers press against his hips right above the waistband of his boxer briefs. “ _Hey_.” His shoulders hitch beneath Jack’s cool chin, and Bitty tries not to spill his coffee as Jack presses himself against him. “Do you _mind_ , Mr. Zimmermann? Some of us are trying to wake up and don’t need your icicles pressed in places.”

“Places?” Jack chuckles, nuzzling into the side of Bitty’s neck. Goosebumps that have nothing to do with temperature race across Bitty’s skin. “Some of us have been up for a while.”

“Some of us like to wait for the sun to rise first,” Bitty says, leaning into Jack. His chest is warm against Bitty’s back, and Bitty would happily stay here forever in this kitchen in Providence, Jack wrapped around him.

Jack presses a kiss to Bitty’s jaw, just below his ear, before he pulls away. “I know,” he says, and Bitty turns to watch him head out of the kitchen and back down the hall to the entryway and living room. “You sleep like a rock.”

Bitty follows him, coffee in hand. He leans against the arch that opens into the living room and watches as Jack pulls off his beanie before hooking his fingers in the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it up and over his head to drop both in a pile on the ottoman. The movement leaves his hair a flopping mess that Bitty’s fingers itch to tangle in and tug at, and Bitty’s distracted by the desire as Jack props a foot up on the ottoman as he bends down to untie the sneaker on his left foot. His t-shirt is still rucked up, revealing the damp small of his back and, tilting his head, Bitty takes in the curve the line of Jack’s shoulders, his shifting forearms and certain fingers. His strong, muscled thighs.

Bitty’s mouth goes dry, his cock stirring.

Stepping forward, Bitty sets his coffee on the coffee table. Jack’s saying…something; Bitty’s not aware of much save the rumble of his voice, the way his body shifts as he switches feet to unlace his other shoe. Before he can straighten, Bitty’s hands find Jack’s hips and Bitty steps up behind him to fit their bodies together. It makes Jack pause.

“Bitty?”

Jack’s skin is hot beneath his hands, sticky with sweat. Bitty can feel him tense momentarily beneath his palms before he relaxes again. Jack’s back is a sight in his rumpled t-shirt, but it’s the bare skin where it’s been rucked up that attracts Bitty’s eye. The small of Jack’s back is smooth and pale and Bitty wants to press his mouth to it, to remind himself of the taste of Jack’s skin—already it’s been too long; the night before, and it’s been too long—and hear Jack’s breath catch.

He bends, body curling over Jack’s, and noses at the soft fabric over his spine. Breathing deep, he smells Jack’s laundry detergent, Jack’s sweat, _Jack_.

Jack swallows, loud enough to hear. “Bitty.” His voice has gone rough and thick. It isn’t a question this time.

Bitty follows the line of Jack’s spine until he reaches the sweat-damp hem and Jack’s skin. He presses a kiss there, then another open-mouthed. “Yeah.”

“What’re you—” He sighs as Bitty’s thumbs press into the flesh just above the waistband of his shorts. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.” It’s a knee jerk response, but the truth is he doesn’t know. Jack is warm and limber, and Bitty isn’t sure what he wants, exactly, other than Jack pressing against him and around him. All he knows is he took one look at Jack, at the muscled lines of him, and thought, _Yes, please, yes_.

Jack chuckles, and Bitty feels it in his bones. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Oh,” Bitty says, nosing at the edge of his shirt, pushing it up farther before he straightens, hips pressing against Jack so Jack can feel him, half-hard already. “My bad.”

“Didn’t say you had to stop.” Jack’s voice is breathless, his body trembling lightly beneath Bitty’s hands.

Bitty tugs at him until Jack puts his foot back on the floor and straightens as well. “Who says I’m stopping?”

He maneuvers Jack to the end of the couch, something in him lighting up at the way Jack goes so easily, the way he lets Bitty push and pull him until he’s bent over the couch arm, hands pressed to the cushion. His breathing’s picked up; Bitty can see his sides expand and contract, can feel them when he runs his hands up from Jack’s hips to his waist, up under his shirt to his chest. He’s pressed closer to Jack now, his interest obvious between them, as his fingers find Jack’s nipples and brush over them, teasing.

“Bitty,” Jack breathes, and his legs shift, thighs spreading as he presses his own hips to the arm of the couch, making room for Bitty, giving him space.

Except Bitty knows what he wants now, and it isn’t space.

“No, honey,” he says, leaning in again to press a kiss to the middle of Jack’s back. “Wait.”

He runs his hands back over Jack’s skin, smoothing over trembling muscle, admiring the way Jack’s back shifts beneath him. Putting distance—inches only—between them, Bitty caresses him, finger trailing, palms pressing. Twisting his wrists, he cups Jack’s ass, appreciating the way the shorts pull over the muscle there, accentuating the sweet curve. Jack pushes back against him, and Bitty grins.

“What’re you doing?”

“Appreciating your assets,” Bitty says. The laugh he’s biting back slips through when Jack’s head drops and he groans.

“Seriously, Bittle?” Jack asks, which only makes Bitty laugh harder until Jack moves to push himself upright and then—

“I thought—I thought I told you to wait.” He pushes gently the spot between Jack’s shoulder blades, easing him back down. Jack goes without question, and something within Bitty thrills. He’s noticed this before, the way Jack will lie back and listen, watching Bitty with eyes gone wide and hungry, hands patient at his sides. He’s noticed—and he’s sure Jack has—but that’s all. Now, with Jack bent over, he can’t help but wonder what lies down that particular path. 

Every now and then, Bitty’s hit with the realization that this is something he gets to have, to keep. It’s exhilarating to think that’s something they have time to explore. He may only be here for a handful of days at a time, a month at the most, but that’s only for now. Their future lies ahead of them; it’s terrifying, but Jack will be in it, and the certainty of that grounds Bitty.

“Well?” Jack says, pulling Bitty back into the moment. There’s an amused lilt to his voice, a spark in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder at Bitty. His sweat-damp hair flops over his forehead, and Bitty feels it like a punch to the gut, want threatening to boil over deep in his belly. “I’m waiting?”

“Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, hand tapping lightly at the round of Jack’s ass. “Don’t chirp me.”

There’s a flush high on Jack’s cheeks that Bitty thinks must be reflected in his own. He says, voice dead-pan, “I would never.”

“Mmhmm,” Bitty hums, and then Jack’s not saying much of anything as Bitty hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts and underwear and works them down over his ass. Bitty’s hum turns appreciative at the sight, Jack’s ass perfect before him, flexing as Jack’s stance shifts. Leaning forward, Bitty mouths at the curve of one cheek, grinning when Jack flinches at the slight scrape of teeth.

Jack doesn’t stop him, though. Jack stands there, head drooping, and lets Bitty do this, lets him touch him and manhandle him, would only breathe Bitty’s name— _Bits_ —if Bitty decided to spread his cheeks and lap at him.

It blows Bitty’s mind. Jack trusts him. Jack _wants him_. Jack wants all of this _with him_. It’s heady and amazing, and Bitty is tempted to drop to his knees and give him what he knows Jack’s expecting, what he knows from experience now that Jack loves.

Instead, Bitty straightens, tucks his hips against Jack, lets him feel how hard he is, thinks, _You did this_. Says, only, Jack’s name.

“Yes, Bitty. Bitty, please. Please, I want—”

“I want to—Your thighs,” Bitty says, tugging Jack’s shorts down to the bend of his knees. “I want to…Lord, Jack, you’re amazing, I want to—” Bitty doesn’t need to see himself to know he’s beet red; he can feel the heat pouring off his skin, reflecting off Jack’s. They’ve done so much already, and this isn’t even really anything to be embarrassed about, the words should be there for him to ask. But they’re not, they’re not, and for a moment he isn’t sure how to push them forward from this breath to the next, but then Jack, oh, _Jack_.

Jack is shifting before him, bending so his forearms prop him up against the cushions, pulling his thighs together. “Yes, Bits, yes. Do it. Do it, just—Bitty.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Jack,” he breathes, letting Jack go to push his boxer briefs down and out of the way. His cock bobs free, and he pauses to wrap his hand around it, to thumb over the head where precome has gathered. He spreads it, easing the friction of his hand some, but not enough. “Jack, do you have, uh. Is there lube?”

Jack groans. “I don’t carry it with me when I’m running. Why would—”

Bitty surprises them both with the smack he lands on Jack’s ass. When Jack speaks again, his voice is thick, his words choked.

“There’s lotion in the drawer of the coffee table.”

It takes a moment for Bitty to grab it. When he turns back, he’s arrested by the sight of Jack watching him from where he’s bent over the end of the couch. Hair hanging across his forehead, eyes dark, shirt pushed halfway up his back; he makes Bitty’s heart pound.

“Oh.” Bitty clutches the lotion to his chest.

Jack smirks, a gentle tilt to his mouth.

Bitty huffs and moves back to Jack. “Stop it, you.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but his muscles flex at the sound of the lotion opening, and then Bitty’s hand is slick around his cock and he’s pushing between Jack’s thighs and—

“ _Fuck_.”

Bitty’s not sure which one of them says it; he thinks it’s Jack because he can barely breath with Jack’s thighs perfect and tight around him. He pushes forward into the sweaty heat of between Jack’s legs and groans, the head of his cock nudging behind Jack’s balls. Jack swears again, words Bitty doesn’t quite catch, and tilts his hips, gives Bitty a better angle.

“Come on,” he says. “Bitty, Bits. Come _on_.”

It’s all the encouragement Bitty needs. He presses his slick hands to Jack’s hips and thrusts and it’s…Lord, it’s amazing. Jack’s amazing. Bitty will never get used to this, doesn’t want to ever get used to Jack being his, to being Jack’s. He wants to bottle this feeling burning bright in his chest and save it for all of the down days and all of the good ones, for the days Jack’s miles away and the days he’s just across the rumpled sheets. Bitty folds himself over Jack’s back and thrusts between Jack’s thighs and _wants_ , oh how he wants.

Jack’s mumbling beneath him, a steady rumble of sound that rises and falls with each movement of their hips. Bitty can’t quite understand what he’s saying, but he’s not sure if that’s the language or the volume or the blood rushing through his ears. Bitty thrusts, and Jack’s thighs tighten around him, and Bitty comes with a groan, mouth pressed to Jack’s half-clothed back, fingers clutching at his skin.

He stays like that for a moment, trying to catch his breath, before he realizes that Jack is moving beneath him, trying to get his hand between himself and the couch.

“No,” Bitty says. “No, no, no.”

Pulling away—Lord, they’re a mess—he tugs at Jack, tugs and pulls and turns him around until Jack is facing him. He’s flushed and breathing hard, his cock curving between them. Bitty takes one look at him and drops to his knees, wraps a hand around the base of him and his lips around the head. It’s the least elegant blowjob he’s ever given—including the first time he took Jack into his mouth—but Jack comes with a groan, fingers tangling in Bitty’s hair as Bitty swallows him down.

Things are a bit of a blur after that. Between one blink and the next (at least it feels that way to Bitty), they’re both on the floor of the living room, shoulders pressed together as their breathing slows, sweat and come cooling against their skin.

“Well,” Bitty says, feeling flushed and happy. “My coffee’s gone cold by now, for sure.”

Silence next to him, and then Jack’s shoulder shakes against him. He turns to watch as Jack laughs beside him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that makes Bitty’s heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” Jack sighs, as the laughter begins to die down. “I love you.”

Bitty stares at him across the hardwood of the living room. He can’t breathe. Is his heart even still beating? _Lord_. “I—”

Jack turns to look at him. His eyes are soft and very blue and the curve of his mouth holds the world.

“I love you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, bright and blinding. “Good,” he says. “Coffee later. Let’s go clean up.”

Bitty watches Jack stand, lets himself be pulled up. Lets Jack tug him to the bathroom where they strip and shower and touch with careful hands and reverent mouths.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros' "Home."


End file.
